Extra Credit
by jaigurudeva17
Summary: My name is Phoebe Meyers, and this is an extra credit report for CoveOps. This past semester, I learned something that changed everything I thought I knew about my parents. So I decided to go on my biggest mission yet, to find the truth. Being undercover wasn't even the hard part. I never expected to encounter what spy training didn't prepare me for: boys.
1. Chapter 1

**Page 1**

I suppose you think the only girl with a story to tell at the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women is Cammie Morgan. Or, maybe you think she's the only one to keep a detailed report of everything that's happened to her. Either way, as it usually is when you're dealing with intensely and professionally trained spies slash geniuses (who happen to be teenage girls), you thought wrong.

Let me intruduce myself. My name is Phoebe Meyers. I'm sixteen years old and a sophomore at my school, the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. I guess you could say I'm an exceptional young woman, however, a more accurate description would be exceptional young _spy_. That's not something I'm permitted to tell people when I usually introduce myself, but, given the circumstances, you probably figured as much.

It is SUCH a relief to not have to explain about being a Gallagher Girl. At least, the fluent in fifteen languages, knows how to disable a bomb with a breathmint, and can paralyze a man using only her elbow part.

If you're reading this report, then you must know about Cammie Morgan, her operations, and the Circle of Cavan. You know that they wanted her and would have stopped at nothing to have her in their grasp. And you know that she left. Vanished. Went completely off the grid.

All summer they've been looking for her. Her mom, her friends, the've been combing through every part of every continent, tracking every bank and airport. The best field agents of my day and age are searching every possible lead. But they can't find her. What did they expect? She _is_ a Gallagher Girl, after all.

I don't know all of Cammie's reasons for running, but I can't say I blame her. I know how it feels to want answers to your questions.

Anyways, I'm writing this report because I want the truth to be written down. In the world of elite secret agents, it's easy for the line between a cover and who you really are to blur. Plus, I might need this for CoveOps (extra credit, maybe?).

Like I said, there's another Gallagher Girl with a story to tell. Everything in this report is the truth: the _absolute_ truth.

Oh, and if you're reading this Ms. Morgan, I really could use some extra credit.


	2. Chapter 2

Page 2

I guess I should start at the very beginning.

I began my life as a tiny fetus, comfortably nestled in my mother's womb-

Just kidding. By beginning, I mean the first time I entered the sleek, intricate iron gates of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. I'll never forget the way I felt when I rolled up the driveway at twelve years old: pounding heart, clammy hands, and a faint buzzing in my ears. It was the strangest thing; I knew I was truly nervous when I could hear that unusual tinny ringing, slowly getting louder and louder.

Just two months before I first caught a glimpse of the massive Gallagher Academy, I had never even heard of it. I was just a normal sixth grader enjoying my summer. At that age, summer for me meant syrupy-sweet snow cones, splashing around in the sprinkler, and playing for hours with my friends on the neighborhood playground. There was this one boy who lived on my street named Ryan, and he always had been my partner in crime. You'd think that a soon-to-be seventh grader would have grown out of wrestling in the sandbox or playing pranks on their parents, but Ryan and I never did.

It wasn't until one humid, late July afternoon that I realized that Ryan wasn't just my best friend. He was a _boy. _Some of the girls in the neighborhood had asked me questions like "Do you guys hold hands?" or "Has he tried to kiss you?" but I never really understood why. I mean, was I supposed to hold hands with him? I didn't know why, but the more I thought about it, the more I worried.

Ryan and I had been looking at one of his comic books in his tree house that afternoon. The sun was starting to set outside, turning the horizon into a swirl of orangey pink. I looked at the top of Ryan's shaggy blond head as he bent over the book, snickering at the jokes on the page. I thought about holding his hand, and I inspected my skinny palms. There was dried dirt and some grass stains on my fingers. I quickly put them in the pockets of my faded jean shorts.

"Haha! Phoebe, read this one!" Ryan was tugging on my shirt and pointing to the crinkled comic book in his lap. I grinned as I read the colorful cartoon; it was something about a little boy and his stuffed tiger traveling through space. Ryan laughed again and turned the page, his sweaty hand momentarily brushing mine.

Suddenly it seemed like it was unbearably hot in the little nook as we crouched there, and my cheeks were on fire. If Ryan noticed our hands touching he didn't show it; he was still cracking up, his boyish giggles escaping every few minutes. Sweat dotted on the back of my neck and I squirmed a little. All I knew was that I really craved chocolate chip ice cream.

I could practically hear the neighborhood girls' laughing and chattering in my ear. _Should I hold his hand now?_ I wondered, biting my lip. I looked at Ryan, squinting my eyes. I had never really thought a lot about what he looked like. He was just a regular looking scrawny kid, nothing special. He was thin as a rail, his old baseball t-shirt hung off his frame and his gym shorts hung low on his hips. He had longish, dirty blond hair that needed trimming. I inspected his facial features: brown eyes, a dusting of freckles on his small nose and a bit of chocolate in the corner of his mouth.

My forehead creased in thought. Puzzled, I wrinkled my nose and rested my chin on my fist. _Hmm... _I thought. I looked again at the faint freckles on his suntanned face. _I guess his freckles are kind of...cute?_

Ryan's laughing died down and he looked up at me suddenly. Slightly annoyed, he cocked his head to the side. "What are you looking at, weirdo?"

It was getting progressively darker outside, and now the sky was a scarlet hue. I could see the dim glow of fireflies buzzing around Ryan's backyard. I started chewing on my thumbnail, a bad habit I'd picked up from one of my other friends at school. "Uhh..." I lowered my gaze to my lap. "Should we...hold hands? Or something?" I wrinkled my nose again, feeling uncomfortable.

Ryan frowned and got up, wiping his hands on his dirty shorts. He picked up his comic book and glared at me. "Why would we do that? Jeesh..." He shook his head." You've been acting really dumb lately. My brother told me that girls were stupid, but I thought you were different.

Ryan dropped to his knees on the dusty wooden floor and slowly started climbing down the thick rope ladder. "I think I'm gonna go shoot hoops or something. Catch you later." He gave me one last disgusted look before he left.

As I watched his blond head disappear under the tree house entrance, a wave of fury swept over me. Gosh, he was so stupid. What was his problem, anyway? It's not like I even did anything.

I stuck my head out the side of the treehouse and yelled, "You're the stupid one! I don't even want to hang out with you anymore!" I panted angrily, crossing my arms over my bony chest.

Ryan hopped on his bike and glared at me from down below. Without saying a word, he showed me his skinny little middle finger and sped away, kicking up dirt behind him. My jaw dropped down and it seemed like red tinted my vision.

What were those girls talking about?! Boys were so dumb! Ryan was just a gross, stupid jerk. In the heat of the moment, I stuck my tongue out at Ryan's retreating form.

I know, it sounds childish now that I think about it. But I swear, I felt like such a badass.

Two days later I had gotten over my fit and Ryan and I went back to being best friends. Never again did I think about holding hands or anything like that with him, and I liked it like that.

The next week was when I first heard the two words that would forever change my life: Gallagher Girl.

I lived in Stephens City, Virginia, a little town right outside of Washington D.C. The day of the accident, my mom and dad had promised to take me to the National Zoo to see the pandas. After weeks of pouting and pleading, my parents finally relented; we fixed a nice picnic lunch and piled in the back of our old Subaru.

I was so excited. In the spring, my class had been assigned to write a paper about giant pandas, and ever since then, I'd fallen in love with the big, fuzzy creatures. I even got a new poster and hung it up in my room. The next thing to do was see them for real.

My dad was always a big John Denver fan, so naturally that was the choice of music for the ride to D.C. I loved going to D.C. I had only been once before, but the congested traffic, thick smells of local restaurants, and beautiful historic buildings fascinated me. Plus, there was all the interesting people.

Okay, so maybe it was destiny for me to be a Gallagher Girl. Even little me noticed things, and I've always had a sense for knowing when something's off. That day in D.C., I pointed out to my mom the fake moustache of a man who'd been sitting next to us on a bench. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she asked me what I was talking about. "That's not fake, sweetie. And besides, it's rude to point."

Then later, waiting in line for a Johnny Blue, I asked a young man what had happened to his wife. His eyes widened and speaking in a hushed tone he asked,"What are you talking about? How did you know I was married?" He glanced toward the door of the Johnny Blue nervously.

I shrugged. "Your hand," I pointed to his right hand. "There's a white line around your ring finger. You had a ring on, right?"

Suddenly, a young woman exited the Johnny Blue and smiled at the man. He looked at his finger, and rubbing it absentmindedly, he started to leave with his date. With one last, disturbed glance over his shoulder, he hurried away.

Finally, we got to the zoo. I didn't stop speedwalking until we got to the panda enclosure, dragging my parents by the hand the whole way. I could barely contain myself at the thought of seeing the pandas. They were amazing, with their big eyes and pudgy bellies. Secretly, I dreamed of getting one as a pet one day.

I grinned from ear to ear as I spotted a big black and white blob in a bush in the pen. It was just as adorable as in my giant poster on my wall. I looked into it's deep black eyes and waved as it chomped on a big piece of bamboo. Smiling with happiness, I stood there watching the panda for quite a while. Something inside me knew that if pandas could smile, it would have smiled back.

It was there, as I was one with my beloved pandas, that my parents decided to drop a bomb on me.

Whoa, hey, not literally, course. I didn't start dealing with bombs and explosions until I had been in one of Dr. Fibs' classes.

Anyways, my parents proceeded to sit me down on a nearby plastic bench and have a talk with me.

"Sweetie, now that you are a mature young lady, your father and I have something very important to tell you," said my mom, looking slightly uncomfortable. Pamela Meyers had never been good at breaking news to people; she was more of a simple, pleasant lady. So usually, she left the complex, unpleasant parts to my father, Dale Meyers.

That's why my dad had been the one to tell me when I found out that I was adopted as a baby.

See, I bet you thought that that was what my parents were going to tell me at the zoo that day. But I had already known that for years. They told me when I had turned five years old, knowing it was better for me to hear the news earlier than later. And I was totally fine with that; I had never felt strange or different, like some adopted kids do.

Even though I am adopted, I still love my parents deeply and feel like their own. My mother is a sweet lady who lives by a simple routine: tending her tiny flower garden in the morning and doing her crosswords at night. It's pretty obvious that she's not my birth mother, with her strawberry blond bob and fair complexion. She has, however, passed on her baking skills to me. We can both make a mean apple pie.

My father, on the other hand, looks more like me. He has dark chestnut hair, and his skin isn't nearly as light as my mom's. Besides me and my mom, his loves are music and teaching. He was my fourth grade teacher in elementary school, and he's probably teaching a class as I write this, never getting impatient with the kids. He's just a big teddy bear.

I have dark brown hair that falls past my shoulders and tanned skin, that makes me look like I've been in the sun all day. I have hazel-green eyes, and both my parents have blue, so it's no secret that I'm not related by blood. But like I said, I don't really mind. Being adopted is like being right-handed or having a birthmark: it's just always been that way.

My dad crossed his legs and rested his folded hands on his knee. He decided to wear pressed khakis and a polo shirt to the zoo, which I thought was a little fancy, but it made him look more the schoolteacher that he was. "Honey, as you already know, you're adopted."

A pack of toddlers in _We LOVE THE MONKEYS_ t-shirts ran by, their mothers scurrying after them. The hot July sun beat down on us, and I picked at the fringe of my flowery skirt. "Yeah?"

Something deep down inside me knew that things were about to get strange. How often do you parents sit you down for something important, and you feel fine? I was starting to feel like I was in trouble for doing something wrong.

My mother gave me a small smile. "We've never told you much about your birth parents, besides their names." Her reddish curls gleamed as the sun shone behind her.

The smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafted through the warm air, and my stomach rumbled. When was this going to be over, so we could get back to the pandas? I sighed impatiently. "Jason and Eleanor Cartwright. You said they live in New York City, but their jobs keep them really busy. They travel to different parts of the world a lot."

I had been interested when my parents first told me about the Cartwrights. They were like a big mystery that I wanted to solve. I used to daydream about what they did; I imagined them as CEOs of a huge company, or professional photographers that shot scenes around the globe. I wondered what they looked like, if I looked more like my mother or father.

After a while though, I didn't think about my birth parents much. Occasionally I'd sit and wonder about whether they thought of me or not. Sometimes I tried to imagine a life as Phoebe Cartwright, living with my real parents, not Phoebe Meyers. But as the days turned to months, and the months turned to years, I just learned to accept that the Cartwrights would only ever be one thing: a mystery.

My mom and dad exchanged a quick glance as we sat in the midst of screaming children and colorful street vendors. I longingly gazed at the panda exhibit.

"Phoebe, your birth mom and dad-Jason and Eleanor-they have an..._unusual_ profession," said my father slowly. He cleared his throat. "They're...well...they're secret agents." He said the word _agents_ oddly, like it was some kind of foreign word.

But I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy daydreaming about pandas, with their fuzzy black ears, chocolate chip ice cream, and buttery popcorn as it melts in your mouth, and secret agents-

Wait.

"What?!" I leaped off the bench, nearly knocking over a little old lady wearing a parrot hat. "Secret agents?! Like...going on missions, fighting bad guys, wearing ultimate disguises secret agents?!" I could _not_ believe it.

My parents proceeded to tell me a long, detailed story of how while on their honeymoon, they had almost died when they were kidnapped by some illegal arms dealers. Jason and Eleanor Cartwright had saved their lives by apprehending the dealers, tying them up and handing them over to the police. As it turned out, the dealers were part of some top secret organization that had been plotting to kill an important dignitary in Costa Rica, where my parents were on there honeymoon. My parents were so grateful to the Cartwrights when they saved them that they promised to do anything for them. It just so happened that the Cartwrights already had something in mind.

"They knew that they couldn't care for a child when they were both constantly risking their lives," my dad said gently. He patted my hand and put his arm around my mother. "We promised to take care of you, and love you as our own. It was the best thing that could've ever happened to us."

I blinked and took a deep breath. It was kind of a lot to take in. The children, vendors, and animals all became background noise. All I could say was, "Wow."

My mom shifted on the bench, looking uncomfortable again. "That's not all, Phee. Your mom and dad also had one request when they gave us to you."

I was staring at my hands, and I glanced up at my mom's worried face. Then I looked at my dad, who was smiling at me the way parents do when they're about to tell you something big. Really big. And I wasn't sure if after everything they'd just told me that I'd be ready.

My dad uncrossed his legs. "Instead of going back to school at home, you're going to school at the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. You're going to be a Gallagher Girl."

**Author's Note: If you guys have any suggestions or comments, please review! I'm just going to see where this goes, and if you have some ideas for it, I'd love to hear them. Thanks for reading :) **


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